The Choice
by Fierceawakening
Summary: When Galvatron slips into unconsciousness after one of his rages, Cyclonus consults Soundwave, hoping his telepathic abilities will reveal what's really wrong with him. When they do, Cyclonus must make a terrible choice. M for some slash & violence.


Cyclonus watched the large mech storm out, his fists slamming into the walls as he went, leaving cracked impressions of the broad fingers hitting them.

Cyclonus stood stock-still, at perfect attention, watching the doors iris shut behind the other. Only after a long moment, the doors long since closed, did he allow himself to slump down, a hand reflexively going to one of his antennae.

The other Decepticons would, of course, say that Cyclonus didn't understand how out of control things had become. He knew full well what they thought of him: that he was loyal to their leader despite these endless tantrums at home and worse blunders on the battlefield because of some error in his programming. That he was glitched, cursed with a loyalty coefficient an order of magnitude too high.

Most attributed this to the dark thing that had granted Galvatron, Cyclonus, and a few lucky others new life. The less thoughtful supposed that his faithfulness to his commander was simply a bug. The Chaos Bringer had cared only about his own plans, so he hardly had reason to care enough to correct everything that went wrong in his new warriors.

Others supposed that Unicron had actually intended to make Cyclonus a zealot. Many Decepticons were only faithful to their leaders until their own interests overrode their devotion. The Chaos Bringer, more thoughtful Decepticons reasoned, must have inflated Cyclonus's loyalty coefficient simply to preempt the possibility that he would defect or rebel. Very few mechs with a healthy sense of self-preservation would have volunteered for the mission the dark entity had sent him on, after all.

Cyclonus scratched at his antenna, scowling. The other Decepticons knew nothing. They believed what they did about him because he let them. Unpleasant as it was to refrain from disabusing them of such distasteful notions.

Only a few of them had been remade alongside Lord Galvatron. And of those who had, fewer still retained their memories. The others, he supposed, were simply too stupid to care what had come before.

Oh, most remembered the days of Lord Megatron's reign fondly. For all that had gone wrong in the war, the mechs united under Megatron's banner had been waiting all their lives for a leader like him.

They were war machines, built to repel invaders with brutal efficiency and to fight for the glory of their kind when defense was no longer needed. Their passion for battle had been ignited generations ago in the war that had overthrown the cruel race that had constructed them.

Although they had tried, in the vorns after that, to make peace with those who'd helped them to cast off their masters' yoke, their need for war had never truly left them. Only when they were fighting did they thrive. Worse, they were eager, although few admitted it back then in mixed company, to do more than defend themselves or win their freedom. They wanted to conquer, to vanquish, to rule.

Megatron had arisen during a time when their need had grown unbearable. He had ignited their desperate sparks. He alone, of all the mechs who had come before, had stood before them and exhorted them to take pride in what they were. He had told them that shame was unbecoming, disgusting, a fetter that any true warrior would break.

They had broken those fetters for him. Whatever he had led them to after that, and however angry they had grown, stymied again and again by the descendants of their cousins, they had never turned against him. How could they have, when he had made them what they were?

Most Decepticons pined for Megatron. But few remembered, these days, what exactly had happened when the Chaos Bringer himself had snared Megatron, half-dead, and rebuilt him into Galvatron, granting him incredible power.

Cyclonus remembered everything.

The machine he had been made from had been worthy enough. No Decepticon warrior was weak, after all. But he had been the third member of a trine, the one no one noticed and few cared about. Starscream had been the ambitious one, always fighting for more power than he had. Thundercracker had been the thoughtful one, examining and considering every order he received, weighing whether following it was truly worthy of him.

Skywarp, on the other hand, had nothing like the processing power of his trine mates. He fought well enough, guileless and determined. And he was one of very few mechs who'd had the power to teleport from place to place, a highly sought-after skill in a warrior.

Still, it was a skill many Decepticons had thought wasted on him. Without orders from his leader or his trine mates, Skywarp had had no idea how to use it.

Oh, he'd known how to flee from danger or how to ambush an unsuspecting enemy, but that was as far as his knowledge of strategy went. He had always been happy to rely on the others to come up with more complicated plans.

Of all the Decepticons to choose to remake alongside their leader, he would've thought himself the least likely. Yet Unicron had chosen him, rebuilding him as Galvatron's right-hand mech and second-in-command. From the moment he'd onlined beside his remade leader, he had understood things far beyond the reach of his prior understanding.

And he'd become mighty as well, granted power to match his new status in the Decepticon army. He'd lost the power of teleportation, a pleasure he sorely missed, but had gained strength and firepower he'd only imagined that mechs like Megatron himself would ever wield.

Whatever they thought of his bizarre loyalty to a leader as likely to shoot at his own troops as to shoot at the enemy, all of the Decepticons knew that Cyclonus had gone from a reasonably capable nobody to a confident warrior. They looked to him to lead them, seeing him as the true power behind the increasingly erratic throne.

It was not a responsibility that Cyclonus wanted. He had united them once, yes. Disgraced, exiled, and missing their leader, he had led them in a search to find and reinstate Lord Galvatron.

Then, he had known only what he remembered: that Lord Galvatron had been remade and granted power, just as Cyclonus himself had been. And before that expedition, Galvatron had shown no signs of the madness that would later consume him.

But when Cyclonus and the others had found him in the plasma pools of Thrull, the Decepticon leader's reasoning had already begun its slow unraveling. He had cursed his rescuers and even attacked them, saying he preferred to remain in his "plasma bath," lording over his "empire of ashes." Even Cyclonus himself had been unable to convince him to return and rule. Another had finally done that, flattering their lord with words almost as senseless as his own had been.

But in the end, Galvatron had remained Cyclonus's responsibility. Only Cyclonus, with his freakishly inflated loyalty coefficient, was willing to put up with his leader's rages. Only Cyclonus was strong enough to shove the others aside when they whispered mutiny, rumbling "All hail Galvatron" with an odd kind of patience they could neither believe nor understand.

And yet, in Galvatron's rare moments of lucidity, he could still inspire them, just as he had in his old body.

"This is no life for a warrior race," he had said, addressing his troops during one of those moments. "What have we become? Once we were strong, strong and proud, the terror of the galaxy. And now look at us. Look at _you. _How long has it been since any of us set foot on the metal of our home?

"And why is that? Because we have let it happen. Because you have allowed yourselves to lose hope. As though hope were something that the universe simply grants you, something that you can misplace through no fault of your own. Something that you must have, if you are to recapture what you've lost.

"The Decepticons I lead do not hold out for anything as flimsy as hope. The Decepticons I lead believe in themselves."

They had hated him for saying it, and hated themselves for seeing truth in his words. But for all that, they had flown away with new purpose pulsing through their sparks.

It had fallen to Cyclonus to see that that purpose remained even after their leader went from strategist and orator to blindly raging machine. Even after long stellar cycles, he'd still wondered exactly how he was supposed to manage it.

But that day, Galvatron had remained lucid for a long while afterward. Inspired, even, calling for Soundwave and asking what information the Decepticons' spies had gathered about their age-old enemy's numbers and strength.

It had unnerved Cyclonus to see Galvatron forget information he should have known already. But his relief had outweighed his worry. He was, after all, only second-in-command.

The plans Cyclonus devised had always been decent, but he had never been the one to bring everything together. Skywarp could never have conceived of any of it; Cyclonus, despite his upgraded processing power, still doubted he could truly do it well. Whatever had brought this on, he'd thanked Primus for it all.

Until he'd learned what was really going on.

It had begun simply enough. After the speech, Cyclonus had called out his customary "All hail Galvatron," to more enthusiastic cheering than usual. He had carefully led his leader away, not wanting anything to set him off when his troops were finally feeling inspired.

"What is this place?" Galvatron had fumed when they were alone, staring out a window at the barren surface of the planet where the Decepticons had taken refuge.

"And how," he'd continued, turning back to his second with a strange gleam in his red optics, "did you fail so profoundly at leading that we all ended up here?"

Cyclonus had expected a blow. Or worse, a blast from his leader's cannon. He'd become an expert at dodging those, but they vaporized anything they did hit. And one day, he might not prove quick enough.

Nothing happened. Cyclonus twitched his antennae in disbelief.

"My lord," he had begun. The Decepticons' ill-fortune was surely not his fault. Still, he had not remedied it. He hung his head, stung by the truth in his leader's words. "I... I..."

A strong arm had flashed out, grabbing him by the antennae and yanking his head up. Pain had flashed through Cyclonus' sensornet.

"Contrite so soon, Starscream?" the other had snarled, his faceplates twisting in disgust. "The second-in-command I knew would at least protest."

_Starscream?_ Alarm had flashed through Cyclonus's processor. _He thinks I am... Starscream?_

"Megatron?" he'd stammered, optics widening.

His lord had only smirked, yanking at his antennae again and pulling him into a deep, brutal kiss.

Cyclonus' fans had kicked on in spite of themselves. As Skywarp, he'd gotten plenty of attention; most of his frame type did. And Skywarp had been less fickle than Starscream, less exacting in his standards than Thundercracker. Those things had their advantage.

But Megatron had never been one to settle for an easy romp with a good-natured but dull-witted mech. The one time Megatron had called for Skywarp, whether from boredom or curiosity or simply because Starscream hadn't been available at the time, had been a disaster. He'd finally simply ordered Skywarp to keep utterly still while he finished his business, and Skywarp had felt too embarrassed at his failure to feel more than a minor overload.

But this - this was desire, real and rich and brutal. Thundercracker had kissed Skywarp like that, in the old days. How long had it been? Ever since their upgrades, the mech his old trinemate had become never had. He'd shivered, feeling his lord's hands moving to the sensitive surface of his wings, their touch practiced and confident.

And this was their leader, reliving the height of his glory. Cyclonus had done so much for his kind. He had united them, drawn them together, brought their leader back from flame and ruin.

And Cyclonus had been remade just as Galvatron had. He had been rebuilt at his leader's right hand. Surely he deserved some thanks, some passion, something -

He'd sank into the other's touch, the tension in his frame melting away as his mouth opened.

"Mighty One," he'd murmured, his spark whirling wildly within his chest as he pressed his wings into his leader's hands. "Please -"

A chuckle had answered his pleas. Cyclonus had frozen at the sound. It had been far too intimate.

"You give in so easily when you want something, Starscream," the voice had murmured into his audio, rich and amused.

Cyclonus's engine had stalled hard. As pleasant as this had felt, it was not for him.

"No," he'd said firmly, pushing the other mech away, hating his hands for their insubordination. "My lord, I am... not who you think I am. _You _are not who you think you are."

The other had stared, fury at being denied flaring in his optics. Cyclonus had braced for the worst, unsure whether he wanted to defend himself or whether he welcomed the pain.

But instead, his leader had frozen, his optics dimming, widening, and then gleaming again. Cyclonus had stared in mounting unease, bracing himself to leap at the other and forcibly restrain him if a fit came on.

"Cyclonus, I -" Galvatron had stammered, his voice suddenly familiar again.

Then he'd wailed, a high, piercing cry that stung Cyclonus's audio receptors.

"No - !"

His hands had gone to his head before Cyclonus could respond. The strong fingers had grabbed at his own crown, twisting the thin metal there with the full strength of a warrior in his prime.

The pain had only maddened Galvatron more. He'd keened, twisting at the mangled metal all the harder.

Cyclonus had lunged, knocking his lord to the floor and wrenching his hands back down to his sides. He'd quickly wrapped his own arms tightly around Galvatron, pinning the other's cannon to his side.

Galvatron could break out of a hold like that easily enough. While the Chaos Bringer had granted Cyclonus power that any other Decepticon would envy, he had granted Galvatron far more. Still, Cyclonus had known from long experience that if he could distract his leader for long enough, the fit would eventually subside.

But Galvatron had shown no signs of calming. He had thrashed wildly, howling his confusion. Worse still, he had spoken: a stream of meaningless invective that had soon become a litany of curses, all aimed at himself.

_Or perhaps,_ Cyclonus had realized, his spark pulsing in alarm, _at someone who isn't here at all._

"No!" he'd cried, twitching so hard it was all Cyclonus could do to keep his hold. "I am not you! You are dead! I am - Galvatron - !"

With that, he had broken free of his second's grip, aiming his cannon wildly, barely missing Cyclonus and vaporizing the far wall.

"My lord!" Cyclonus had finally pleaded. "Stop this! Whatever happened, it is over now! You are -" he'd looked at the rubble, his antennae drooping - "you are yourself again, my lord. Galvatron."

He had calmed, finally, hearing the name. His frame had gone rigid, his mouth the only sign that he'd remained online. That had quirked into a small smile.

"I am Galvatron," he'd said, staring at the smoking heap of ash that was all that remained of the wall behind him without recognition. His optics had flickered once and died, his frame abruptly shutting down.

Neither Cyclonus nor any of the Decepticon medics had been able to rouse him out of stasis lock for days. His spark remained fierce and bright, pulsing and whirling as if it understood what was happening around the lifeless frame that held it, but nothing they tried could wake him, not even infusions of current that might have raised the dead themselves.

In desperation, Cyclonus had consulted Soundwave. The blue mech was no medic, but he was a telepath. And the Decepticon leader's bizarre behavior after giving his speech had been far stranger than anything plasma damage alone could cause. The heat damage and corrosion could explain the irritability, the lack of focus, and perhaps some mild memory loss, yes.

But thinking he was Megatron? Mistaking his second for Starscream, when he'd terminated Starscream himself long before the plasma accident? Minor processor damage could not explain that, and if Galvatron's processor had been severely damaged, he shouldn't have been able to remember anything at all.

"Something more is going on," he'd said to Soundwave, running a hand along Galvatron's chest as though he could protect his leader's spark by touch alone.

The plating was unnaturally warm, the spark beneath whirling, restless underneath Cyclonus's hand.

"You can access his processor. You can find out what has happened here."

The telepath had been reluctant. This was, after all, the Decepticons' leader. His thoughts, such as they were, should be his own. But seeing what had happened, Soundwave could not deny that something must be done.

"Affirmative," he'd said finally, his visor flaring as he'd attempted to access the other's processor. Cyclonus had muttered a brief prayer to Primus that his leader's state wouldn't make accessing his mind impossible.

But as soon as Soundwave had begun his probe, the Galvatron had twitched and quivered, his optics flashing a dull crimson, his mouth murmuring indistinct words.

Soundwave had said nothing. Cyclonus had stroked one of his own antennae in mounting disquiet, struggling to keep himself under control. Still, seeing his leader's obvious distress, he could not keep from out his question:

"What has happened to our lord's mind?"

Soundwave had looked up. If he had been irritated by the intrusion, he hadn't revealed it. "Minds," he'd said finally. "Analysis: two minds."

"But there is only one processor," Cyclonus had protested. "That can't be possi -" He'd trailed off.

He'd seen it himself, hadn't he? The leader who flew into rages, who shot almost as often at his own troops as at his enemies, who cursed his followers for failing to keep to plans he barely seemed able to remember himself.

And the leader who emerged, a beacon of fierce hope in the midst of the madness, appearing just long enough to remind them of what they had been, once...

"Galvatron and Megatron," Cyclonus had said finally, his spark contracting in horror.

"Affirmative."

"But how - ?" He'd wished, then, that he'd been built from someone else. Unicron's upgrade had vastly increased his intelligence, but he felt as mystified now as the Seeker he'd been crafted from would have been. He and Scourge and the Sweeps had all been remade alongside their leader, and none of them had ever experienced anything like this.

He had Skywarp's spark and Skywarp's memories. He missed some things from his old life, yes, but he had never grown confused, or angry, or lost time. He had simply gone on with his life, knowing full well who he'd been and who he'd become.

"Skywarp, Thundercracker, others: willingly remade. Or offline. Megatron: unwilling. Used. Defiant."

Had he been? Skywarp had not been awake to hear it, and Cyclonus had not yet come online. He had heard that Megatron had submitted in the end, choosing life over destruction.

But was that true submission? Even the remade Galvatron had defied Unicron again and again, refusing his demands until the Chaos Bringer tormented him into doing his will. Cyclonus had watched it over and over, Galvatron forced to his knees, wailing in impotent rage as some unseen force tortured him until he'd finally given in, promising his tormentor anything he wanted.

Cyclonus had looked over at Soundwave, who had played an audio clip in response, apparently from Galvatron's - _Megatron's? _- memory core.

"You belong to me now," a dark, hollow voice was saying. Then the voice of his leader, as Cyclonus remembered it from another lifetime, clear and defiant: "I belong to nobody."

Cyclonus had shivered, his antennae twitching, his fuel tank turning over until he thought he might purge its contents. Unicron had rebuilt Megatron without his consent? He could not even imagine the depth of such a violation. Shuddering, he'd willed himself not to try.

"Then Lord Megatron truly does remain with us," he'd murmured, in awe.

"Spark: Megatron's. Frame: rebuilt. New personality: created for frame. Old personality: dormant. Until -"

Cyclonus's deep voice had grown grim. "- until Unicron was destroyed."

"Affirmative."

"Then with Unicron gone -"

"Megatron: attempting to regain control."

Galvatron had moaned, staring unseeing at Soundwave, turning over as if uncomfortable.

"Then this madness affecting Lord Gal - affecting _him _- them - it is not plasma damage at all."

"Effects of plasma immersion: negligible. Frame: rebuilt by Unicron. Resistance to heat damage and corrosion: considerable."

"Cyclonus," the thing in front of them had moaned, its red optics locked on the Decepticon second-in-command.

It had reached out a hand, which Cyclonus had taken, awkwardly. "I am here, Mighty One."

The other had grinned, a sickening rictus. "Good."

Cyclonus had looked to Soundwave again, anxious to be rid of the sight. "Then this battle of personalities is tearing them apart."

"Affirmative."

"Starscream... Cyclonus..." Galvatron had moaned, the great head thrashing from side to side.

The grip on Cyclonus's hand had tightened painfully. He'd fought not to wince, feeling the metal of his hand give. _That will leave dents_, he'd realized. But there had been nothing for it. He couldn't have wrenched his hand away if he'd wanted to.

"I... I can't remember... my name..."

Cyclonus's optics had widened in pain and fear. "My lord?"

The silver faceplates had twisted into a snarl. "My name. What is my name?"

The red optics, dim until now, had flashed so brightly they stung Cyclonus's vision. "Tell me!"

Cyclonus had opened a comm link to Soundwave. _How do I answer him? What must I do?_

_Unknown. Cyclonus: second-in-command. Decision: his._

Cyclonus's antennae had twitched. His decision? Yes, he was second-in-command. But Skywarp had never been a leader, and even he himself hadn't been rebuilt to lead.

_This choice should not be mine! _he'd railed, unsure whether he was saying it over the comm or simply crying out in his own mind. It hadn't mattered. Soundwave would know he'd thought it either way. The telepath didn't have to probe his mind to sense the obvious.

_Can... can we bring Megatron back?_ Cyclonus had found himself asking before he could stop himself. It had been Megatron, after all, who had arisen to inspire them earlier. And apparently it had been Megatron who had done so before, time after time. _If I tell him that he is -_

Soundwave had interrupted, behavior that Cyclonus had never seen from a mech so emotionless and deliberate. _Possible. Likelihood: low._

_Then what is likely?_

_Megatron: emboldened. Galvatron: struggling to survive. Processor: unable to sustain conflict._

_And the result?_ Cyclonus had already guessed it. Still, he hadn't wanted to think of it. Not until the other had confirmed his suspicions.

_Annihilation of personality, _had come the telepath's response._ Permanent deactivation._

_And if I call him Galvatron, Megatron will leave him?_

_Probability: low. Will of Megatron: strong. Likely result: dormancy. Reprieve: temporary._

_Then if I tell him that he is Galvatron, I doom him to the madness that has afflicted him since we rescued him?_

_Affirmative._

Cyclonus had shivered, his antennae twitching in dismay. What kind of choice was this? A slim possibility of recovery that might well end in his leader's permanent deactivation, or descent, once again, into madness?

It was a choice even a true leader might have difficulty making. Cyclonus didn't need his new processing power to see that.

And he himself was no leader. He had been rebuilt to take his place at his leader's right hand. To serve, with all the might and power and fierce determination of any true Decepticon. But not to lead. Not to decide the fate of his kind.

"You!" the mech clutching his hand had snarled, crushing the metal. Cyclonus had allowed himself one deep, long grunt as it finally gave completely.

_Do we have spares?_ It had been a crazy thought, so absurd given the circumstances that it almost made him laugh. More than likely, they'd run out. He wasn't sure it mattered anyway.

"Tell me... _what is my name?_"

Cyclonus had stared into the crimson optics, watching them flare. What could he say? What dared he say?

He'd wanted things back the way they once had been. That speech - it had rejuvenated them, all of them, himself included.

And Megatron was nothing if not mighty. Surely it would be nothing for a legend to overcome a half-mad mind implanted in his processor.

And yet that mind had been implanted by the Chaos Bringer himself, a being that devoured planets, a being more powerful than anything Cyclonus could ever imagine.

Could even someone as mighty as Megatron conquer that? Cyclonus hadn't known. And if Megatron, powerful as he was, failed, that would leave the Decepticons with no leader at all, unless Cyclonus himself could be that leader.

He'd shuttered his optics, his antennae drooping in shame.

"Galvatron, Mighty One," he'd said finally, unable to meet his leader's gaze. "Your name is... Galvatron."

The deathgrip on Cyclonus's ruined hand had loosened. Gingerly, Cyclonus had pulled the mangled metal free, staring at the twisted, unrecognizable scrap on the end of his wrist.

"Galvatron," the other had murmured, his faceplates twisting into a smile.

And that, in its turn, had led to this, Cyclonus reflected, staring at the craters his lord's latest fit had left in the wall.

The Decepticon leader had given several speeches since his internal battle. They had done the job Cyclonus had hoped they would, reminding the Decepticons of their purpose, their aims, and their heritage.

Fortunately, afterward Galvatron had simply grown angry, taking his pain out on walls, on buildings, on a few unlucky mechs before Cyclonus could wing in to stop him.

Cyclonus had been honestly thankful for it. Those were only small things, the sorts of things that led to holes in the walls and a few mechs flying off to medbay. All of that could be repaired easily enough.

Cyclonus stared down at his new hand. It shone brightly, its paint still too new for scuffs or scratches or unsightly smudges. It wasn't quite the same color as the rest of him, but that he could live with.

After what had happened then, there was much that he could live with. Much that the Decepticons could live with, as long as the reminders came often enough.

He sighed, resisting the urge to fidget with his antenna again. He would see that they did.

However painful that would be.

For himself, and for his lord.


End file.
